


Oblivion

by moon_hedgehog



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Canon Divergence, Flashbacks, M/M, Manipulation, Mental Health Issues, Michelle Jones Is a Good Bro, VERY brief mention of self-harm, your daily dose of diluted angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2020-09-02 06:54:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20271769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moon_hedgehog/pseuds/moon_hedgehog
Summary: Peter unsuccessfully tries to have at least a resemblance of normal life. No one ever taught him how to deal with heartbreak. As well as falling in love right after it.





	Oblivion

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Pixel_Vast](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pixel_Vast/gifts).

Peter throws himself onto the bed in a half-run, burying his face in a pillow and moaning soundlessly. In his head still rings the laughter of Quentin – no, Mysterio, since he himself has asked to call him that silly nickname – when they snatched themselves a bit of “comradely” time after the festival, chatting about Fury's donkey stubbornness and parallel universes. The moon was blinking in the sky, accompanying them to that part of Prague that was left untouched by the greedy paws of the fiery elemental; and the smell of late baking and, albeit past, fun was hanging in the air. Peter listened to his companion with undisguised interest, biting his lip and stealthily throwing glances that certainly didn't mean anything. Mysterio actively gestured, stamped his foot in pace with inaudible rhapsody and whistled under his breath; and then dragged Parker to Charles Bridge and huffed.

“Now I understand why Stark liked to keep you nearby.”

Peter didn't even have time to answer – only felt a needle poke in his heart – before the man briefly covered his lips with his own, pulling him into a careless kiss, and then withdrew and saluted with two fingers, wandering away.

Peter didn't run after him. Now he just groans into the pillow again, trying to hide and shut off that swarm of thoughts and feelings that are raging in his head. It seems like only a couple of days ago he was trying to hide from endless questions of the reporters – they, of course, wanted not him but Spider-Man; and Peter himself stopped counting days passed, so maybe it really _was_ a couple of them. In any way, he ended up shamefully escaping, with Aunt May holding a check for an umpteenth amount of dollars under her armpit – a gift from Pepper. Farewell. Officially – no, but Parker understood everything; she needed to take care of her own child, she wouldn't have brought another on herself. Peter could, of course, argue that he's a child, but no one ever asked him.

Though only a child would continue staring at a memorial graffiti in one of the city districts hour after hour, passing all the events in bustling New York past himself. Sometimes he didn't even change into the suit – just jumped on height and curled up there like a discarded puppy. He liked this graffiti way more than the one in the city center; it was far up and yet not so flashily tragic (and therefore would've been liked by-). Usually, he returned home at one or two in the morning; stared blankly at aunt's shaggy hair (she never went to bed without having awaited him) and prowled into his room, and there, not being bothered by removing battered sneakers, covered his whole body with a blanket and closed his eyes. Sometimes sleep came quickly – on lessons of either biology or psychology they were told that the body knows how to cope with stress on its own. Sometimes it lingered or didn't come at all - then Peter looked into an endless blackness under his eyelids and tried to cast aside everything-everything-everything, and it was still better than an empty existence he began with every first ray of sunshine. Wake up. Wash your face. Have breakfast. Sit in school for a while. Dumbly stare at Ned's moving lips (who cares what he says?) and his tired eyes (he's worried). Have lunch. Catch MJ's pitiful glance. Come back home. Have dinner. Escape to your shrine.

It does seem like only a couple of days ago Peter blankly watched May packing his suitcase on a trip, shut off Fury's calls, tried to make at least some distracting plans for school holidays. Now he's just from saving the world and a stupid romantic walk under the stars and an equally stupid kiss that made the blood in his veins go crazy.

Peter takes a deep breath and howls like a martyr. He's ashamed. He's so _fucking_ ashamed.

* * *

“_Watch your tongue,” Tony barked, but Peter didn't even think of getting scared; his lips parted in a grin and he giggled vilely. Happy used to shake his head – you love playing with fire a little bit too much, boy – but mostly their relationship wasn't tried to get into._

_Only Captain America once gave him a measuring glance. And Hawkeye turned away. Whatever._

“_Or what?” he purred, jumping off the office desk littered with fresh documents and sneaking up to Stark from behind. Cheap newspapers often said that Iron Man was really made of iron – cold as ice – but Peter knew that was a blatant lie. The muscles on his back are warm and he is too, and Parker pressed his whole body into him, tiptoeing to reach his neck._

_Tony sighed, unsuccessfully trying to tie a tie that was slipping out of his hands again and again. With Peter hanging off him, now this task had become even more daunting._

“_You know yourself,” he answered frowningly, and Spidey used all force to suppress a stupid screech that was being born deep in his throat. Yes, he knows. And he wants it more than anything. Especially now. Now when Tony is dressed like that, and now when he's getting late, and now when he holds all his willpower in a strong fist just not to snap._

“_Tell me again,” he whimpered, as if not knowing where to put hands, and therefore c__lutching__ either Stark's shoulders or waist._

_Peter really wants Tony to snap._

“_Or I'll bend you over this table and fuck you so to the very next week you won't be able to pull your legs together. I'm angry. Don't cross me.”_

_But who cares what Peter wants. Sometimes you have to retreat. Parker pouted his lips for decency, but took a cautious step back, contemplating the man with a never-disappearing grin. Then suggested:_

“_At least let me help with a tie. Aunt May taught me.”_

* * *

Despite egregiously-indignant parents demanding their teenagers to be immediately returned to homely America, the school tour goes directly to Paris; and Peter suspects that Mysterio is somehow involved in this. His whole hitherto broken, fragmented world explodes with fireworks – they are not, of course, like the first time, but no less exciting, tickling and breathtaking. He presses his nose to the bus's glass, not paying attention to the reigning rumble, or to stuffiness, or to Ned's periodic pokes. About halfway through, Fury's fifth call and displeased voice catch him and make him pick up the phone. “I have long waited to convey something to you,” the head of S.H.I.E.L.D mumbles, and then stops in midsentence as if he's not sure he wants to continue. As if he doesn't want to convey this to Parker at all. “Something Tony has left you.”

Peter waits precisely three seconds before hanging up. He does not immediately notice he's trembling; does not immediately notice tears rolling down his cheeks. MJ is much more perspicacious, and therefore from a stupor, he wakes up by her soft voice and a palm on his shoulder. Her curls neatly frame the features of her face, her eyes sparkle under the sun's rays penetrating through the window. She is beautiful – very – only Peter has long given her up. After the first two kisses with two completely different men.

“Everything's okay?” she asks sincerely (at that very moment, Peter recalls that she's been known about their relationship with Iron Man, just as well as Ned). “Need some water?”

At first, he shakes head negatively but then nods uncertainly, and she hands him a plastic bottle, briefly squeezing his hands. She'd probably like to do more than that but understands that nothing can really help here. Nothing and no one.

In Paris, he, she, and Ned with Betty run to the Eiffel Tower holding hands, and for several minutes all the pain disappears from Peter's head. It's like he flies over the city again, relying only on his own skills. It's like he's free and doesn't need a daily routine - “a schedule will help you not to think”: aunt May purred, stroking his hair – or sedatives - “that'll make it easier for you”: Happy muttered, turning away face red – or even razor blades - “idiot, what have you done?!” Ned yelled once, hastily trying to find a first-aid kit. It's intoxicating and he allows himself to forget.

Then, above, warm hands fall on his shoulders, instantly knocking out all the air from his lungs. Michelle casts a fleeting glance, but steps aside; Peter only looks in front of himself, at the capital of France spreading out under his gaze, and bites his lip frantically.

“Do you like it here?” asks Mysterio.

Parker turns around only to see his neatly trimmed beard, cheap wristwatch, and a clean beige jacket. The man arches an inquiring eyebrow, the corners of his lips are raised in a barely noticeable grin, and Peter cannot hold back – he exhales:

“I do.”

* * *

“_I do, do, do! I like it so much! Thank you, thank you, thank you!”_

_He was hopping around Tony like an overexcited child, clapping hands and spinning. A huge house made with the latest trends of Stark Industries and an endless bunch of new gadgets – both for the suit and for daily “non-superheroic” use - loomed nearby. Of course, it wasn't in Peter's name – in Tony's, but now it's their common refuge from the whole wide world._

_Also, it was standing by the ocean._

“_I'm glad,” Stark grunted, but seeing pure joy on Spidey's face, couldn't restrain a smile too. “But wait, you haven't seen the game room yet.”_

_Peter's deafening squeak - “the game room?!!” - thundered all territory, and then the boy broke to the house's entrance, but… stopped halfway. Turned around and cast a thoughtful glance at Iron Man._

“_Are you coming?” he asked with uncertainty, swaying on toes._

_Peter was almost sure he looked pathetic – but most of all, he felt lost. From the very morning, Tony hadn't said a word to him, and now - a whole house. House. House!_

“_Did something happen? This is no accident, right?” he jerked again, nervously folding arms over his chest and almost headlong rushing to Stark who'd barely beckoned him with a finger._

_Tony sighed. After a skirmish with Captain America, he looked several years older – Peter surely didn't care, and at nights he hid pity in his eyes behind passionate but awkward kisses; but the fact remained, and sometimes Spidey had to drive away gloomy fantasies of the future. Today everything was innocent and menacingly strange to the limit, and all that Peter wanted was to be hugged and told that everything will be fine from then on. And this house is not some kind of bomb shelter, but just a place where they'll live together._

“_It's okay, baby,” Stark sighed, brushing his hair and stretching his lips in a smile again. “Really. Just harsh days, you know how it is. And you've added me some troubles recently, too.” To this, Peter just turned away, desperately trying to hide the blush on his cheeks. Well… okay, let's say he blew up a building in New York. But it was an accident! And it was empty! “This is your home now… our home. Even if I'm not here… it will always belong to you, Peter.”_

_The boy opened his mouth to answer, but something in his brain snapped lightning fast and, chewing on the begging words, he only asked:_

“_So are we going to see the game room?”_

_Tony burst out laughing._

* * *

He wakes up not in a hotel room, and for a second gets completely lost in painted white walls and neat new-fashioned furniture (purely from IKEA). It's an apartment. Logical. Someone's. Obvious as well.

Whose?

Throwing a blanket over his shoulders, Peter flounders and almost slips, but still successfully descends the stairs and peeps into the kitchen. Smells of fresh bacon. And tomato juice.

Mysterio.

At the man's sight, Parker involuntarily recalls warm hands on his hips and pricking beard on his neck. He's instantly thrown into heat, and therefore rather awkwardly crouches on the nearest chair, completely not knowing what to do next. In a couple of days, everything has abruptly become confusing, and now he's already in the kitchen of a stranger – wraps himself in his bedclothes and awaits breakfast quite impudently. Mysterio doesn't seem to care about any of these, because he only gives the boy a charming smile and sits down next to him.

Breakfast really is wonderful. By noon, Peter rushes to the school bus and flops onto his legal seat, ignoring the questioning glances of his friends (and one sympathetic – of MJ). On the road, he's lulled by a warm feeling inside, so he turns on a playlist with good old love songs, closing his eyes. In a dream, for the first time, he does not injure himself, does not repeat the moment of death of the dearest person. In a dream, he dances under the hot night sky of Paris and smiles at his partner and feels absolutely, blissfully happy. A light touch on the shoulder awakens him. Peter half-opens his eyes, squints and instantly clenches teeth. The bus is empty. It's parked. In the distance buzz students' voices. In front of him stands Fury, behind him a tall woman.

“Knew you're not going to take my calls,” the head of S.H.I.E.L.D sighs, but there is no anger in his voice. Rather – fatigue. Rather – sadness. “Came to you personally. You need to have this.”

From somewhere in the depths of his unchanging black jacket, he takes out a small box – Peter would gladly turn away or say that he doesn't want this or even scream; but something makes him sit upright. In the box are sunglasses. Below them a note. Parker picks the items up and twirls them in his hands, runs his eyes through neatly written letters. Fury watches expectantly – and what does he expect, for Peter to burst into tears? - but in the end, only nods slowly and turns around.

“I know it's not just a cute accessory. Hope you do know what you'll do with it, kid.”

Peter doesn't. What's there to know, he doesn't even want to hold this in his fingers. He bites his lip so hard that it turns white and doesn't notice how the bus begins to fill up with people. “The next Iron Man...” and something else. “I trust you” at the end.

Before putting on the sunglasses anyway, Parker crumbles a piece of paper and throws it out the window. In it – everything he never wanted. Everything he was always afraid of. So to hell. With it, Fury, concerned friends, school, London to which they're heading, and Mysterio to hell too.

Peter chokes on tears but swallows them – just like the blood flowing from a bitten lip.

* * *

_Tony wiped his lip with a snow-white handkerchief embroidered with pure gold – it's a pity to even wear with you, let alone use on some teenager. Peter was still shaking weakly but with every minute the trembling lessened and lessened. He kept tears under control – he's a Spider-Man. He shouldn't cry._

“_Silly,” Tony sighed at last, making Spidey raise his sore eyes._

_He expected Iron Man to be angry. But in his eyes was only tiredness, and in the very depths – worry. Peter swallowed. Stark shouldn't feel that way about him. It's not right._

“_Why did you run into a street fight? You don't get enough adrenaline?” Tony grinned weakly. “Or I should have raised you better?”_

_This is a rhetorical question, but Parker lowered his eyes anyway. It just happened – that's all that was spinning on his tongue, but surely that wouldn't have been enough for the owner of one of the largest companies on Earth, the protector of this very Earth and its famous superhero? Of course not._

_Although Tony thought differently because the next second he pulled Peter closer._

“_Silly. You know I love you.”_

_Parker froze, and then sobbed loudly and buried his nose in Tony's chest. Spider-Man shouldn't cry. With others. With Iron Man – he can._

* * *

It's easy, Peter. You've already given E.D.I.T.H voluntarily – the thing caused too painful memories. Stylish sunglasses with built-in artificial intelligence - “not your style at all, huh?” - are now flaunting on Quentin Beck. Drones and illusions hover behind him, a spectacle capable of fooling thousands and millions of people; a performance affected even Fury. A performance affected even Peter.

This is all so silly. He dreamed of forgetting everything, but it was oblivion that lured him into the simplest of traps – it is so easy to dissolve in a person who reassures you at night. A couple of minutes ago, this same person was trying to kill him, but E.D.I.T.H only monotonously hummed into the air: “Error! Exposing the original owner to danger is impossible.” This did not stop one of the drones from hitting Parker, forcing him to land right in front of Mysterio. However, maybe Peter wanted this himself.

He has nowhere else to run. He doesn't want to take E.D.I.T.H in his hands; he doesn't want to take anything else from _Tony_. He won't be able to kill Mysterio: the man sarcastically breathed “it was too simple, seducing a poor boy with a broken heart; all that I needed was to replace good ol' Stark” and he was right. He doesn't want to be a friendly neighborhood spidey anymore, he doesn't want to pretend that everything is fine, because nothing is fine; he doesn't want, doesn't want, doesn't want to open his eyes again just to see the worried face of Aunt May, Happy and school friends.

It's easy, Peter. Just kneel down. Just pull off the mask and curl up into a ball and let tears drop from the corners of your eyes. Yes, Spider-Man shouldn't cry, but if you don't want to be him anymore, what the hell is the difference?

On the other side of the bridge, Mysterio squints thoughtfully. Knows he can't kill. Maybe doesn't want to.

Squats beside and ruffles Peter's hair, smiling through gritted teeth.

“Don't be afraid. I'll take care of you, baby.”


End file.
